Fortunate Wager (17 page)

‘No, Alexander,’ she said, gathering her wits together. ‘I think it is extremely good of you and not heresy at all.’

He gave a twisted smile. ‘Thank you, though I am not sure I
agree. Until tomorrow, then.’ At the last moment, he took up her hand and kissed it.

Caroline was left staring at the closing door in more confusion than ever.

T
O SAY ALDERMAN
Taylor was delighted at the arrival of Lord Rothwell and the Duchess of Abervale in his
establishment
was somewhat of an understatement. He immediately sent for his daughter, refreshments, a more comfortable chair for her grace, and all the gold chains the display cases held.

He also repeatedly thanked Caroline
sotto voce
for bringing her patrons to Bury St Edmunds and told her what a happy day it was when she and Louisa first became friends.

The duchess was appreciative of everything in the shop, but appeared chiefly struck by her son’s thoughtfulness in noticing that the chain she wore with her favourite locket had worn quite thin. ‘I won’t say it is unlike him,’ she confided to Caroline, ‘but I do begin to have hopes when he thinks it is better if I choose a present for myself, rather than him ordering any old article and my being expected to be pleased when it really won’t do at all.’

‘Perhaps he is growing up, ma’am. I believe all gentlemen do eventually.’

‘Very likely. And see how he is drawing the dear alderman aside so that we can enjoy looking at these in peace. I do think this new fashion for not wearing all one’s nicest items together is rather vexing, don’t you?’

Caroline perceived that her real task was to dissuade her grace from buying up half the goldsmith’s stock and thought she thoroughly deserved the treat of being gathered up with Louisa and her father when the business was concluded, and all being taken to a hotel for coffee and ices “every bit as good as
Gunter’s” according to the duchess, before they drove home again.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, when Alexander saw her to the Penfold Lodge door.

‘I hope you are not too fatigued,’ he said with a smile. ‘I always think going on an outing with Mama is akin to being pulverized by meringues.’

‘What an unnatural son you are. I found her grace quite delightful.’ Then, as Alexander lifted an amused eyebrow, Caroline added honestly, ‘But I do see that it is not the sort of thing one could do
every
day.’

‘Not if one wants to remain sane and solvent,’ he replied. ‘I confess I enjoyed today, too. I will see you after the race tomorrow – if you will allow me to call?’

The race. Caroline’s insides suddenly contracted. ‘Certainly, my lord,’ she said. ‘I look forward to it.’

He hesitated. ‘Caroline, win or lose, I would like you to know that I would retract the bet if I could.’

Thursday. The day of the race. Caroline felt sick with nerves. She rose at her usual hour, rode out as usual, went back to the kitchen with Harry as usual and had to flee the room as her stomach rebelled at the cooking odours. A tray of tea with some thin bread and butter was firmly sent after her.

It was a private match, so Solange had not had to be shown to the stewards in advance. Furthermore, it was to be held at the close of the meeting. While this gave Caroline much more time to imagine all possible disastrous scenarios, it did at least enable her to be in evidence at home beforehand to greet Alderman Taylor who was leaving Louisa at Penfold Lodge before going up to the heath himself with Harry, and also, sadly, to sustain a short call from her mother. Mrs Fortune had been most put out to learn –
from two different sources, Caroline. Two! I have never been so mortified
– that her daughter had tripped merrily off to Bury St Edmunds the day before with a party from Cheveley. She pointed out that it had been tiresomely thoughtless of Caroline
not to drop a note around to Fortune House asking Selina to accompany her. It would have been the work of minutes. Had she no sense of what was due to her family? Caroline was suitably apologetic, Mama left, and the butler could at last be told the ladies were not at home to visitors.

Louisa accompanied Caroline upstairs. Caroline loved her friend dearly and appreciated the support Louisa thought she was giving, but she would much rather have got dressed in the Penfold Lodge racing colours by herself. Not that Louisa said anything, it was just that her cut-off gasp at the adapted underclothes that were all that would fit under the white breeches, and then the widening of her eyes betraying how tightly those breeches clung to Caroline’s legs was more than a trifle unsettling.

‘Can you breathe?’ she asked, as Caroline doubled a shirt tightly around herself and buttoned up the close-fitting buff and crimson silk jacket.

‘Enough,’ said Caroline. She sat still whilst Louisa pinned her hair into place, then jammed on the black racing cap. Last of all, she wriggled into a concealing coat of Harry’s for the ride up though the town. ‘Wish me luck,’ she said.

Louisa hugged her. ‘I do.’

Flood had readied Solange and was waiting in the stable yard. Caroline rubbed some dirt into her face before resolutely meeting his eyes. ‘I can do this,’ she said.

‘You can, lass.’

He threw her up into the saddle and together they walked under the arch and into the street. Caroline concentrated on Solange as she had never concentrated on a horse before. Carriages, other horses and pedestrians all passed by on the edges of her vision. She was the mare and the mare was her. She hardly even realized they had reached the start of the Rowley Mile until Flood’s hand on the bridle halted them and she heard Harry’s voice, oddly formal, saying, ‘You agree this is the horse you sent me for training?’

And then Alexander replying, ‘Oh yes, that’s her all right.’

Caroline kept her shoulders slumped and her head down. How could he not recognize her? She felt Flood nudge her leg. ‘Dismount for weighing-out, lad.’

She flushed, slid off and sat on the scale with her saddle. Still she kept her eyes downcast.

As she got back on Solange, she heard Giles d’Arblay pass a light remark wondering which mousehole Mr Harry Fortune had found his unfortunate rider in. The laughter which greeted this sally indicated that quite a crowd was lingering after the main races to see this one.

Solange shifted sideways with a whinny. Caroline gripped her with her knees, wondering which of them she was comforting. They moved to the start. Four other horses joined them, but all Caroline’s attention was on the course ahead. Solange was packed with wiry, nervous energy; Caroline
had
to get her out in front where she wouldn’t be jostled as soon as was possible. It seemed an interminable wait until the runner puffed up to say milord and the judges and all were in position at the finishing post.

Eight furlongs. Maybe two minutes of time.

‘Go,’ said the starter – and they were off.

There was no room left in Caroline for nerves or for sickness. The horse on the far right had started best but Solange was going well too. At least she didn’t have to worry about guiding the mare around any bends, this course was a straight mile and as flat as anywhere for the first six furlongs. How long had passed? Ten seconds? Twenty? There were hoofbeats in her ears as a chestnut head edged into her vision. Grafton’s
half-thoroughbred
, it had to be. ‘Go on,’ she crooned to Solange. ‘Go on, girl.’

They must be at four furlongs by now. The horse on the far right was slowing, winded. Was Grafton’s increasing on them though? Caroline crouched lower, urging the grey mare on. Five furlongs. Now the dip was in sight. The trick was to use the increased speed going down the incline to push the horse up the final rising furlong. ‘Go, darling,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just like
our stretch of training ground. Go, go, go.’ Caroline was almost flat now, melding herself to the horse’s back. Was she edging further in front of the chestnut?

Six furlongs. Thundering down the dip, not, not,
not
thinking about uneven ground and broken legs. Seven furlongs and rising ground and Grafton’s horse falling back. And going on, going on, going on….

Solange galloped at full stretch to the finishing post. Caroline blinked her eyes open to focus on the two figures she knew would be just past the mound of turf. Harry had swept his hat off and was throwing it in the air. Alexander was smiling almost as exultantly. She had won. She had won and he was happy about it, not chagrined. He didn’t care that his bet was lost. She thought her heart would burst. She slowed Solange as she headed towards them, hardly able to believe her victory. For a split second she met Alexander’s warm, laughing eyes….

And then behind him, his face as cold as a Fell winter, she saw Giles d’Arblay raise his arm.

‘Look out, Alex!’ he yelled and cracked his whip in the air.

Solange let out a sound that should never be forced out of an animal’s throat and reared up almost vertical.

Caroline clung on with everything she had. Terror swept through her, whether hers or the mare’s she didn’t know. For one, two, three seconds Solange danced on her hind legs before thumping to the ground with her fores and thundering away across the heath.

Alive. Caroline was still alive and she was hanging on, but there were people everywhere, scattering, shouting, making Solange worse. Please God don’t let them get in the way, don’t let anyone indulge in well-meaning heroics. Please God, don’t let anyone get killed. Please God, please God, please God….

They crossed the London Road in a headlong blur of speed. ‘Straight on,’ said Caroline to the horse. ‘We’ll go straight on away from everyone, then around the outside of the town towards Cheveley and get home from there. You’re a wonderful horse, a splendid girl and I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let
anyone hurt you ever again.’

There were fewer people at last. The scrub and turf of the heath showed signs of giving way to fields. Solange slowed. Caroline’s heartbeat gradually fell back to normal and she managed to unclench her hands from the reins.

Alive. She was alive and Solange was alive and the crowd on the heath was alive and even though eddies of tension whirled over the grey mare’s hide it was just the normal easing down to an everyday hack. Nothing to worry about now. No rogue instincts. Normality.

But with normality came realization. Tears trickled down Caroline’s cheeks. ‘Oh, Solange,’ she wept, as the full impact of their actions spread itself out in her head. ‘Oh, Solange, darling, do you know what we’ve done? We were first past the post but we didn’t weigh in. We’ve lost the race.’

As the grey mare thundered away, terrified bystanders scrambling out of her path, Alex’s mind whirred with disbelief. The lad – Brown – was Caroline!
Caroline
!

For one brief moment, in her jubilation at winning, she’d met his eyes full on. They were honey-brown. No one else Alex knew had eyes like that. No one had a face like that, under the concealing layer of dirt. She’d done it. She’d ridden Solange in order to win the wager. And she
had
won it. For one soaring, explosive moment he’d been so proud of her.

And then his heart had been ripped out and hurled into the far distance as if belted by some gigantic celestial cricket bat.

Alex screwed up his vision. Caroline had control of the mare again and was heading her away from the crowd, away from traffic, away from people. The horrific emptiness when Solange had reared and screamed and Alex thought Caroline would be flung to the ground like a rag doll and trampled had passed. He could breathe again. In a while he would have to think about the knowledge that had come crashing down on him during those endless few heartbeats, but for now he could simply stand and be amazed and be thankful.

‘I knew it!’ Beside him, Giles was exultant. ‘The horse has bolted without the rider weighing in. That means it will have been distanced. The second horse wins. You can claim your wager, Alex. A thousand guineas! Fortune will have to sell all his stock to cover it. That’ll teach him to brush
me
off.’

It was as if Alex had never known Giles before. ‘You knew Solange would bolt?’ he said, in a remote voice that didn’t sound like his own at all.

Giles was looking hither and thither amongst the crowd, hardly paying attention. ‘I thought there was a good chance. You should thank me. Now we can both collect.’

‘What of the rider?’

It wasn’t surprising that Giles failed to spot any warning signs in Alex’s mild, detached words. They were only just making it out of his mouth, let alone picking up enough impetus to infuse themselves with emotion.

‘What of him?’ he said with a laugh, beckoning to his groom. ‘If he’s any sense he’ll drop off. And if it chances that he doesn’t bounce, Fortune can use the fee he was going to pay him for a burial instead.’

The last vestiges of his boyhood friend’s glamour fell away. Giles quite simply didn’t exist any more. Alex strode to the judges’ box, catching Harry by the arm and towing him along. ‘It was a private match,’ he said in an authoritative, carrying voice. Around him the crowd fell silent. Alex raised his voice still more. ‘All here bear witness. I would like it made known that I accept completely and without reservation that Mr Harry Fortune has trained the grey mare Solange sufficiently well to win the race as per the terms of our wager. I therefore make no claim on him.’

Harry clasped his forearm, his face shining with relief and gratitude. ‘Thank you, my lord. It was a foolish bet, but I could and would have paid you had you decided otherwise. This will make all the difference to us. Louisa is at Penfold Lodge. When I tell her, you will have her thanks as well.’

The judges conferred. The spokesman cleared his throat. ‘A
private match does not come under Jockey Club rules,’ he announced. ‘Solange passed the post first by a length. Lord Rothwell has declared himself satisfied with the weight. The result stands.’

The gentlemen around the ring of bookmakers burst into vociferous life. Alex looked at Harry. ‘I must get after your sister,’ he said, his voice pitched so only the pair of them could hear.

‘Would you? Thank you. I have to find Louisa’s father and take him back to Penfold Lodge.’ Then Harry caught his breath as the purport of Alex’s words sunk in. He paled. ‘You knew it was Caro?’

‘Not until she won. It was a damn good disguise. She’s safe in that I saw her gain control of the horse, but what the devil were you doing letting her ride?’ Latent anger threatened to tip him over the edge again.